I would therefore tell Wynnie, and
let her share my expectation of deliverance.
I think she had been half-asleep, for when I entered her room she started
up in a sitting posture, looking wild, and putting her hands to her head.
"I have brought you good news, Wynnie," I said. "I have been out on the
downs, and there is light enough now to see that the little schooner is
quite safe."
"What schooner?" she asked listlessly, and lay down again, her eyes still
staring, awfully unappeased.
"Why the schooner they say Percivale got on board."
"He isn't drowned then!" she cried with a choking voice, and put her hands
to her face and burst into tears and sobs.
"Wynnie," I said, "look what your faithlessness brings upon you. Everybody
but you has known all night that Percivale and Joe Harper are probably
quite safe. They may be ashore in a couple of hours."
"But you don't know it. He may be drowned yet."
"Of course there is room for doubt, but none for despair. See what a poor
helpless creature hopelessness makes you.
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